The Quelling Quandary
by MLynnBloom
Summary: (full summary inside) Chapter the 6th inside! It's Thursday, and as Quigley learns the horrible plan Olaf has in stock, the Baudelaires are heading right for it...
1. Chapter the 1st: A Sad Occasion

**The Quelling Quandary **

By MLynnBloom

**Summary: **In any handy dictionary, you might find that the word "quelling" means "suppressing" or "overwhelming" and that "quandary" is "a dilemma". I advice you keep looking up definitions instead of reading this story where these questioning words refer to Quigley Quagmire's quest for the Baudelaires and his own siblings. (Takes place right after The Slippery Slope)

**A/N: **I have gotten such awesome reviews from everyone from my story _The Ship in the Sky_! I never thought I'd write another chapter to it (it was intended to be just one) but after the Grim Grotto, I realized that I could go a bit farther with it and actually write a story. Mostly on what happened with Quigley during Book the Eleventh, and them some.

(It's not exactly required to read _A Ship in the Sky_ before you read this. I think most of you will catch on, but go ahead and read it if you want ::wink::)

**Chapter the First**

"_I think we're out of sugar."_

"_We can't be. Mother just bought sugar. Check the cupboard on the left."_

"_But I've looked there and everywhere else and I can't--- wait… oh."_

There were voices faintly coming from the kitchen and a clatter of pans. He yawned but he kept his eyes closed and soon felt himself falling back asleep again…

"_Don't drop it!"_

"_Shh, you'll wake him up!"_

He woke up to the voices again. He must have slept another hour or two. He heard footsteps in his room and pretended he was asleep, trying not to smile.

"_Ready?"_

"_Yes… Quigley? Quigley, wake up…"_

A hand shook his shoulder. It felt like Isadora's. He turned over onto his stomach and covered his face. They would have to try harder than that to get him up.

"_Quigley? Wake up, Quigley! It's today!"_

Quigley smiled. He couldn't take it any longer. He opened his eyes and then his mouth to speak. Instead, he inhaled in a lung-full of sand with his first breath.

He shot up, right out of his dream and coughed violently. There was nothing to help his choking, so Quigley coughed until he hacked up the sand. Then he collapsed on his back.

He did it again… reliving his past in his sleep and waking up to find it a painful memory. He had dreamt that particular one three times already since the fire and it always fooled him into thinking he actually _was_ in his bed asleep, sick with the flu as Isadora and Duncan came in with their 13th birthday cake just for him. Just like he remembered.

He buried his palms into his eyes. He missed them so much… Finally he took a look around, squinting in the morning light.

Ocean. There were miles and miles of it as the tide continued to rise and fall. Its deep rumbling and crashing on shore could remind one of thunder, only without lightning. The morning was still young and in the sky the moon could still be seen faintly beside the winter sun, shining down blindly; it was giving off a dead heat.

Yesterday seemed like a colorless blur. What had happened…? He was wet. That was right… the Stricken Stream, this was where it led him… and the reality of it all flooded back into his memory.

After struggling against the river's current all night, his entire body felt as if it was on fire. His tongue was swollen and he ran his hand through his knotted hair and shook out sand. Sand. It was everywhere.

He forced himself to get up and wobbled as he stood up. A shooting pain went through his legs. He hurt so much… if only he could lie down for a few more minutes…

No, he mustn't. He had to catch up with the Baudelaires somehow. They were in trouble and he knew sleeping on the beach wasn't going to get him anywhere. How he would catch up with them, he didn't know.

Quigley staggered over to the shore as the tide rushed over his feet, thinking back on the last twenty-four hours. He had tried to tell the Baudelaires to meet him at the Hotel Denouncement, but the current overtook him. But Klaus was smart; Violet was brilliant. For now, he could only wish that they would be able to figure out where he meant.

The hairs on his neck prickled; it was the feeling of being watched. He turned around. No one. Strange. He looked back to where he had slept, his notebook still lying there, and remembered the blurry slip of paper he found that night. It was gone.

Quigley knelt down on his knees uneasily, the foamy waves spilling over his throbbing legs. Then he bent down and splashed the seawater onto his face. He had to stay awake. He licked his salty lips and splashed some more water onto his face. His neck prickled uneasily again but he ignored it.

He opened his eyes but shut them quickly. They stung horribly from the salt water and Quigley let out an exhausted groan. _This morning cannot get any worse_, a weary voice said in his head.

* * *

He was receiving strange looks.

Quigley quickly understood why. He had left the beach and walked into the outskirts of a large city by the beach he had washed up on. People had stared at him as he walked by. Finally, he had found a privately-owned breakfast café hidden away in an alley and here he was, sitting on one of the café's stools … wet, sandy, and worn out. He held his notebook in one hand and a few newspaper pages he found blowing around on the streets. He looked up.

There were only two other people in the café. One was an elderly man, chewing on the corner of a piece of toast as he studied a chessboard in front of him. He gave Quigley an unkind look as he eyed his dripping clothing. The second was a younger woman with dark hair and a suit with a single cup of coffee in her hand. She hadn't looked up at him because she was concentrating hard on the book she was reading, as if looking for something.

"Hey, kid."

Quigley turned back around. A rough, stout waitress was standing in front of him. She looked him up and down and her brows furrowed.

"Rough night?" Her voice grumbled but her face softened. She had a glass of orange juice and a plate of eggs in her hands and set them down on the table in front of him.

"Don't worry about money. It's on the house," she said as Quigley fished his pockets for any sort of change. "You keep it easy, okay?"

Quigley nodded. He stuffed half an egg into his mouth once the waitress returned to her work. Suddenly, he became lost in another one of his memories where Duncan, Isadora, and himself had brought breakfast to their parents on their anniversary…

In five minutes, he was done with his meal. He had never felt so hungry in his life and strangely enough, just two eggs had filled him up. He remembered the newspaper pages he had found and picked them up.

"_Cat Rescued From Towering Treetop" _

"_Paperclips! FREE with purchase of Staples!"_

"_Man Tackles Ferocious Emu, Lives to Tell (entire story on page 3)"_

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Quigley sighed. The newspaper was his key to finding the Baudelaires, even if it was the Daily Punctilio. Any kind of sighting or report of a fire or Count "Omar" would lead him there. He also looked hopefully for any headlines stating "hot-air balloons".

Quigley left a tip with the small change that had actually survived the Stricken Stream in his pocket and left. Through the café's window, he could see the old man still studying his chessboard but the woman was gone. He brushed off the rest of the sand on his clothes and kept walking.

* * *

_She's following me._

Quigley clutched his notebook a little tighter and stopped in front of a shop. He acted casual but stared hard into the reflection of the shop's large window. It mirrored the street behind him and standing by a bus stop was the dark-haired woman from the café looking his way.

No. He was just paranoid. No one was following him. And yet…

Yes. She had left the café before him but he had spotted her walking behind him. Just seconds ago, the city bus had stopped to pick up passengers. She hadn't boarded.

Was she with the authorities? No, she would have stopped him by now, wouldn't she? Quigley took a deep breath. There was only one way to find out.

He started to walk away from the window. He didn't dare look behind him. He kept his head down low, his steps quickening. He got faster and faster until he finally approached the corner of the street… this was it. The test.

He turned the corner nonchalantly and glanced back to the bus stop. His heart stopped. She wasn't there…

She was walking right towards him.

Quigley hid himself past the corner and looked around. He only had a few seconds before she would turn the corner as well. He had to get away fast. Then something caught his eye. A park.

He couldn't believe his luck. If you had to hide and blend in anywhere, a park was definitely it. He dashed across the street and straight under its stone archway.

Quigley ran as fast as he could and looked over his shoulder. She was nowhere to be seen. He had done it; he lost her. Perhaps he _was _overreacting. Besides, what were the odds that someone knew who he was and decided to follow him? The mind flashed to V.F.D. members but his thoughts were interrupted He turned back around. Something was wrong.

It was too quiet. There was no laughter from children playing in the park or friendly conversations to be heard. It was dead silent and he looked down around him.

Tombstones. He was standing in a cemetery.

A shudder ran through him. A cold draft blew around his legs and he strode through the gravestones, never looking down once. It seemed to stretch on forever but Quigley kept on watching, tears blurring in his eyes. He was scared he might see his parents' names on a headstone… he didn't even know if they had gotten a proper burial. If they had, then there would be no doubt that his would be on a gravestone too.

"Ouch!" His toe cracked as his foot hit something hard, and he fell with a gasp of pain. Slowly he looked up at the gravestone he hit. It was crooked and buried in the ground unceremoniously. Plainly embossed into the stone was a name in bold letters: JACQUES SNICKET.

Quigley sat there on his knees and frowned sadly. Jacques has been a good friend for the time he knew him; he had taught him nearly everything he knew about the V.F.D. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve a poor memorial like this. Indeed, he didn't deserve death. He tried to straighten the headstone but it sagged deeper into the soft earth.

"I didn't realize this was a sad occasion."

Quigley shot back against the tombstone. It was her, the woman. She gave a slightly sympathetic smile. "You poor thing," she said looking down at him, "you're in bad condition."

Something clicked in his head. The list of V.F.D code phrases Jacques had taught him flipped through his memory like pages of a book: _"I didn't realize this was a sad occasion."_

Quigley stumbled as he pulled himself up, stepping backwards. He said nothing although his mouth was slightly agape. _A V.F.D. member…?_

"Come with me, Quigley," the woman said bluntly, "we will be able to track down the Baudelaires faster if we work together."

Quigley stood stock-still as his brain went numb. His tongue stumbled over his words. "W-what? How do you know---"

"Come," she repeated, "I'll explain."

Quigley took a step midway but stubbornly stood in place. Anyone could pick up names such as his and Baudelaires.

"No." He said plainly.

The woman's eyes sparkled as if he was a student of hers who had just answered a question correctly. "You're not easily taken are you? That's good. Persistence and suspicion are good traits to have. I noticed the newspapers you picked up on the streets. You would make a good Volunteer. Now come, there's no time to lose."

"No," Quigley repeated hesitantly, staring her in the eyes. He wouldn't be easily fooled. He swallowed the last of his nerves down as he grew increasingly confident. "How do I know you're on the right side of the schism?" He asked firmly. His insides squirmed as he thought about being trapped in a graveyard with a member from the wrong side of the V.F.D. He glanced around for a quick exit. There were none.

The woman gave a pained smile and took her hands out of her pockets. They were covered in white gloves. She pointed to the gravestone behind him.

"Because he was my brother. My name is Kit Snicket."

_Snicket_. Quigley stepped forward.

* * *


	2. Chapter the 2nd: Unanswered

**A/N: **Thanks a million for the reviews! I hope this chapter keeps you reading! Happy Holidays!

**Chapter the Second**

"If you are also looking for the Baudelaires," Quigley said quietly after shaking her hand, "I would like to help. I knew Jacques Snicket, and any relative of his is one to trust."

Kit gave a sad smile and said nothing. She kissed her fingers and touched them on the top of Jacques's headstone and they walked away from the graveyard. Quigley saw she was heading towards a stopped trolley and he tried once again to brush the sand caked to his sweater as best he could before he climbed in. Kit chose a seat in the very front by the driver; Quigley followed.

The trolley bell rang and they started down the cobblestone road gently as passengers talked amongst themselves in the back. Quigley nearly exploded inside with questions as he sat beside Kit but he kept his mouth shut. She gave him a comforting smile and he felt suddenly embarrassed for running away from her. She seemed so professional and committed.

Finally he leaned in and spoke casually, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "How did you know to find me here? And Count Olaf, is he anywhere near the Baude---" Quigley whispered frantically and Kit let out a small laugh.

"There's no need to worry about keeping your questions out of earshot of the trolley conductor. He's a volunteer as well," Kit explained and the driver gave a little nod as he looked briefly back at Quigley. Quigley couldn't believe it. Here he was with actual V.F.D. members in everyday disguise… the people with all the answers.

Kit folded her gloved hands in her lap as she spoke, "For starters, this was the first stroke of luck I've had in a long while. I didn't expect to meet you so soon, although I did have high hopes.

"At first, I was actually searching for the Baudelaires. They have been in that sad excuse for a newspaper many times lately and I figured after reading that they were at Madame Lulu's carnival, they would venture up to the headquarters. After its destruction, I knew they would head back down. I went to the tributary of Stricken Stream hoping to find them and the sugar bowl. Instead I found you. I am guessing you've heard of _it_… the sugar bowl," Kit spoke slowly and Quigley nodded.

"As for the Baudelaires, I can only suppose that they are heading down the other branch of the stream. My only guess is with the crew of the Queequeg… Widdershins will be in the general area where the Baudelaires have washed up if he has been thinking in the same thought process as I. Perhaps he will have more luck with finding them and the sugar bowl."

Quigley looked out of the trolley. He was filled with a terrible sadness, trying to imagine Violet and Klaus floating downstream with little Sunny. Kit was only guessing where they would end up. They could be anywhere.

A thought struck him and he lit up. "Is that where we're going?" Quigley asked, "To the other tributary to find them? They must be there… I saw them before we were washed away."

"No. It would be useless to search the stream hours after you four were broken up," Kit answered and simply said, "You'll see."

He held his commonplace book close to his chest and turned to Kit humiliated. "I'm sorry for running off. I was scared you might have been associated with Count Olaf."

"I'm sorry I didn't come up to you right away," Kit apologized, "Before his death, Jacques told me all about you and what he taught you about the V.F.D. He said you were very clever and when I noticed you on the beach, I followed you to the café to be sure. You are very much like your parents and you look so very similar. I knew it had to be you."

Quigley looked down forlornly and tried to smile. He diverted his attention to her lap where Kit was drumming her fingers against the cover of the book he remembered her reading in the café. "What is the book for?"

Kit held it up and Quigley read the title:

_The Walrus and the Carpenter, and Other Poems _by Lewis Carroll 

"Poetry?" Quigley asked. Kit just simply nodded.

They rode in silence. Deep inside, Quigley still had so much to ask but he mind went blank with what he wanted to know. The trolley bumped slowly down the street and Quigley looked over to Kit. She always looked so sad.

"Ms. Snicket…?" Quigley asked awkwardly.

"You may call me Kit," she answered.

"Do you… w-where are my siblings? Duncan and Isadora…?" Quigley's voice trembled. He was scared for the answer but the look on Kit's face answered it plainly. The same answer he had received already:

"I apologize, Quigley, but their whereabouts are unknown."

The trolley slowed to a stop and Quigley looked around. He hadn't realized that they were the only ones on the trolley now and Kit stood up. "Follow me," she said directly.

She gave a final wave to the driver and Quigley stepped out. Immediately he covered his nose.

"Yes, it's horseradish. There's a factory over yonder. Don't ask why, it would be better if you didn't know." Kit explained and Quigley stared at it. He couldn't even begin to guess how a horseradish factory was connected with the V.F.D.

They walked for a long distance through a tall grass field. Kit led the way and Quigley hesitated behind. The ground gradually became soft and wet and he finally noticed a large swamp a little while off.

"Where are we?" Quigley asked.

"On the borders of Swarthy Swamp. We're not too far off from Lachrymose Lake," Kit answered.

They walked on. The wide, slimy marsh slowly grew as they became closer and lying halfway in the mire was a large shed, sagging dangerously to the side. The roof looked as if it was going to cave in any minute and the doors and windows were sealed shut. It was abandoned.

Kit stopped in front of it and Quigley looked skeptically around. "This will provide the answers to our questions?"

Kit opened the rotten, wood door. "You must never judge a book by its cover. Nor a structure by its exterior." Kit grinned and they stepped inside. Within seconds, Quigley was facing another door made of stainless steel. Around the door were spidery wires and a keyboard of a typewriter.

"This is a Vernacularly Fastened Door!" Quigley gasped as he looked around. Kit nodded and took out a small commonplace book, very much like Quigley's, out of her coat.

"This shed provides as a shell around the real V.F.D. quarters inside to create a false image to others. Jacques was the last member to use these quarters and reset the Door as well. The first phrase wants us to name the year Napoleon Bonaparte was defeated at the Battle of Waterloo."

Quigley thought a moment, "It must have been in the early 1800's, but I'm not exactly sure what year it was… the 1820's perhaps?"

Kit raised her eyebrows, "Close. 1815" She typed in 1-8-1-5 and soft _click_ was heard.

"The next phrase wants the best literary term that describes Mark Twain's type of writing in _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_." Kit read and looked at Quigley for his answer.

"That's an easier one. Mark Twain satirized the American way-of-life of his time in his novel." Quigley answered and leaned in to type S-A-T-I-R-E. It gave another buzzing _click_, only louder.

"You're very well read," Kit smiled and she paused.

"What's the last phrase?" Quigley asked. Kit stared at her notebook and then back at Quigley.

"I don't think you realize how lucky we were to find each other. Luck has never been on my side, or at least the Snicket's side of the family. The reason we came here first is because you are the only one that can open this door," Kit began.

"I don't understand," Quigley said, "How can I only open up this door? Answers can be found in books and records."

"Yes, but not memories. Jacques purposefully reset the Door so only you could open it. He did this so someone of the V.F.D. would go looking for you after he left; he wanted you to be safe. He gave me the phrase questions to this Door so I could be that someone who would find you. Now you understand how lucky I am," Kit explained and gave Quigley her commonplace notebook.

Quigley read aloud from the last line on the page, "The last phrase asks us… who was the last man J quoted to newest volunteer, Q."

Kit studied Quigley as she waited and Quigley racked his memory. It seemed like years since he had seen Jacques for the very last time. His memories were fuzzy; nothing was coming. He knelt down on his knees with his hands over his eyes, hoping that blocking out his surroundings would help him remember.

"I…I don't--," Quigley stuttered and he struggled with his thoughts. It had been an extremely warm day… they were in Dr. Montgomery's library… He could see himself paging through numerous books, but where was Jacques? _Think, think…_

_He looked up from his book, "Looking for something? I might be able to help." His own voice in his head sounded eager to participate._

_A tall, slender man strode through the library and grabbed his coat off on of the chairs. "No, I've found it." It was Jacques. He was adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves._

"_Quigley, something important has come up. I'm sorry, but I must leave for a time. I'm going to Paltryville for an interview. Hopefully this will solve my problems," Jacques looked up from setting his hat on his head and he checked his watch. "I shan't be long."_

_His footsteps were clicking on the hardwood floors and they disappeared out of the room. Quigley set his book aside and followed after him…_

"…no, no that can't be it," Quigley spoke to himself and he looked up towards Kit, "There's more to it, I know it… but it seems so long ago. If I can't answer this…"

"…then the location of the Baudelaires will remain unknown," Kit answered somberly and Quigley closed his eyes again. The memory was coming back in bits and pieces…

"_Let me come with you," he pleaded as Jacques opened the door, "I could help with what you are searching for." Jacques continued to walk._

"_Please, let me come!" Quigley urged louder, "I must find what's rest of my family!" Jacques stopped._

"_I can't let you. It's too dangerous, even this simple interview. But," Jacques laid a hand on his shoulder, "I understand. I know what it feels like to have family members ripped apart from you, whether they're dead or the law wants them dead. You must wait."_

"_No, I won't wait around any longer! Nothing has come out of all this studying. Duncan and Isadora are still alone at that school, I'm still waiting here as everyone else in the world thinks I'm dead, and now you're leaving with false hope of finding answers! What is to come from all of this waiting and reading and…?" Quigley stopped pathetically. _

"_What will come will come, I promise," Jacques said softly and he bent down to Quigley's face. "Yes. Things seem hopeless. Everyday without answers seems useless, I know. But in time, you will have the answers and your hard work will be rewarded, so stay and read. The world is quiet here, and that is a rare thing these days. _

"_Here," Jacques pulled out a dark purple notebook, "record what you find in here. Every member of the V.F.D. keeps one. Quote the great Emerson, 'Books are the best of things, well used; abused, among the worst'. They always have answers."_

"_Will you be back soon?" He asked._

"_Soon enough," Jacques answered. He began to walk out the door but he paused, "Study when you can. The uppermost shelf has the most information. Remember, 'Make time now to change time later'." Jacques tipped his hat and closed the door._

The memory was fading but Quigley strained with his last effort to remember. Emerson was not the answer…

_He had stood there with the notebook in his hands. He watched Jacques walk away through the window from Dr. Montgomery's yard and suddenly he reached for the window frame and pushed it up._

_"Who said that?" Quigley called out. Jacques stopped in his tracks and turned around. "That quote… 'Make time now to change time later'. Who said it?" Quigley asked again._

_Jacques smiled from under his hat. "He goes by J. Snicket." Then he was gone._

Quigley stood up and took a deep breath. He stood in front of the Vernacularly Fastened Door and typed in J-S-N-I-C-K-E-T. The door remained silent and then with a gratifying click, the Door swayed open. Kit smiled down at Quigley and they stepped inside cautiously.

"This," Kit said, looking the proudest she had been since he had met her, "is receiving room of the Volunteer Factual Dispatches. The key control room to all of the V.F.D.'s telegrams." Kit switched on a single light bulb. All around the room were both sending and receiving telegram devices. However, it was deadly quiet.

"What's wrong with the telegrams?" Quigley asked as he stepped in slowly.

"They were destroyed and this is why we had to stop here first. The V.F.D communicates the fastest through telegrams because if one is unsure of a certain member's whereabouts, they send it here, the main intercepting room, hoping that they will read it here. It's like a giant mailbox for the V.F.D.'s messages. The communicating wires have been ruined by Count Olaf's troupe, but with some readjusting, we can repair the telegrams back to their normal state."

Quigley strolled aimlessly throughout the metallic V.F.D. shed. He stuck his head behind a telegram and saw that its wires were cut and frayed.

"But how does this help us find the Baudelaires? They could be miles away from any telegram," Quigley pointed out and Kit gave a weary shrug.

"Let's just hope they aren't."


	3. Chapter the 3rd: Technical Difficulties

**A/N: **Ah, I feel so loved with all of the nice reviews. Just a pointer, but I really hope all of you reading have read up to the Grim Grotto, otherwise you might think I'm brilliant for making a lot of this VFD code stuff up. I'm not LOL. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter the Third**

For hours, Quigley and Kit worked on replacing and rewiring the system of telegrams. Kit described that the telegrams were like a string of Christmas lights: if one bulb is burnt out, then it affects all the rest of the lights. Kit explained, although she wasn't exactly sure, that the only way the telegrams were destroyed was if a V.F.D. member came in before Jacques and wrecked the wires.

"It's happened before," Kit said from under a telegram device, "Not exactly with telegrams, but with members from one side going to the other. They remain as spies until they are discovered as frauds, and sadly, it's usually going from our side to the other."

Quigley pulled a mangled wire from out of a telegram, "I just don't understand why anyone would want to change sides to join Olaf."

"Neither do I," Kit said solemnly.

They worked non-stop for the rest of the day until Kit called for a break. There was a small cabinet and fridge farther down the room along with a little table and a shelf of books. The entire abode was cramped and low but cozy in a strange, mechanical way.

"Fixing all of these telegrams will take days," Quigley said before taking another spoonful of his soup Kit had found and heated up.

"Yes, I know. It's tedious work but it's vital that we get it done," Kit explained, paging through a book while she ate.

"But time is limited, isn't it?" Quigley said.

"What do you mean?" Kit asked. She looked questionably troubled.

"Well, other than finding the Baudelaires, we need to get to the Hotel Denouncement by Thursday, right?" Quigley started.

"Quigley, how did you find out about that?" Kit asked austerely.

"On the Mortmain Mountains with Count Olaf's troupe. They said it was the last safe place for the V.F.D," Quigley explained.

"Count Olaf knew of this?" Kit looked worried.

Quigley dropped his spoon, "You don't think it could be a trap, do you? That's where the Baudelaires are heading! They can't go there!"

Kit's face became distressed, "I'd like to be in doubt of it, but now I'm just not sure."

Quigley ate his soup uneasily. His hand shook as he thought of Violet, Klaus, and Sunny somehow arriving at the Hotel alone, only to find Olaf and those two horrible, nameless people: the man with a beard but no hair, and the woman with hair but no beard. He had a terrible urge to work frantically on the telegrams but he was tired and still hungry. They ate in silence.

Kit studied her book and Quigley sat there, chewing. "What are you looking for?" Kit looked up. "I mean, I've learned that when most volunteers read, it's for information."

Kit smiled, "You're absolutely right." She held up her book and it read: _The Best of Emily Dickinson._

"It's another book on poems," Quigley said, almost to himself, "What is there to find in poems?"

"Much," Kit said still reading, and Quigley realized it was another one of those times where he would have to wait and see later.

Time seemed to pass much faster, especially when Quigley needed much more time. He worked endlessly for the rest of the night and well into the morning. When Kit awoke, she found him asleep on top of another telegram he had fixed.

Food was slowly running out in the cabinets. Kit explained that members usually don't stay at the control room for days and so Quigley snacked on crackers for breakfast, although he was starving.

For nearly an hour, Quigley worked on the last telegram, making sure he readjusted every wire exactly right. He plugged in the last wire and stood back.

"Nothing's happening," Quigley muttered softly.

"Hmm?" Kit replied behind her books.

"The last telegram is fixed and nothing's happening," Quigley said louder and Kit came over.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm absolutely sure," Quigley retorted. He took the wire out again and stuck it back in. Nothing.

"Everything's on. The power switch, all of the devices… It doesn't make any sense," Kit said bleakly.

Quigley strolled absentmindedly throughout the room back and forth. That meant that one of them wasn't fixed correctly. All of that hard work and he had to recheck them again. It could be any one of them…

He started back at the first one he repaired and re-plugged the wires and switched on the buttons. The telegrams remained broken. Quigley moved to the next one.

"Quigley, if we redo them all, we'll run out of time," Kit said, standing stiffly calm.

"But there's no other way! We might miss receiving a telegram from Violet or Klaus or Duncan or—or…" Quigley said weakly behind a telegram. The wires were fixed and still nothing happened. If only Klaus was here to read up on mechanics or Violet to invent _something_… The telegram seemed to stare at him mockingly. He stepped back frustrated and kicked it hard before sitting down.

"Per—perhaps we can…" Quigley started but he was out of ideas.

"Perhaps we can finally send a telegram," Kit finished confidently and Quigley looked up.

The telegram he had kicked was buzzing faintly and a tiny red light in front started to flicker. The light flashed dimly and then as if all of the telegrams were waking up, they started to buzz and finally, all of the lights down the numerous rows blinked green.

"They're on! We---!" Quigley shouted and then all of the sudden, rolls of paper were rolling out of the slits of the receiving telegrams and covered the floor.

"We have a lot of catching up to do," Kit said, picking up the sheets of paper and reading them. A smile escaped her lips as she read one and turned it over for Quigley to see.

"Aye, I think we found them," she grinned. It read:

**TO:** THE VOLUNTEER FACTUAL DISPATCH CONTROLCENTER

**FROM:** CAPTAIN WIDDERSHINS—QUEEQUEG

AYE URGENT MESSAGE STOP. AYE PLEASE SEND DISPATCH STOP. WE HAVENT RECEIVED REPLIES IN WEEKS AYE STOP. VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ STOP. AYE BAUDELAIRE CHILDREN VIOLET KLAUS AND SUNNY FOUND AND ON BOARD STOP. AYE WE SEARCH FOR THE SUGAR BOWL DAY AND NIGHT AND WILL NOT STOP STOP. AYE RESPOND PLEASE STOP.

"Widdershins…" Quigley mumbled but Kit was already striding across the room picking up dispatches.

"Most of these are repeated messages wondering if their telegrams are operating right or not," Kit said as she threw them away. She took a stack of books off the little shelf by the refrigerator and plopped them down on the table. "Now we can work."

Quigley snapped up from his thoughts and sat down with her, the telegram still in his hand. Kit opened up a book, the same book of Lewis Carroll poems she was reading in the café when Quigley first met her, and turned the book towards him. Inside was a piece of paper with a copy of one of Carroll's poems written on it. Quigley unfolded it and read it aloud:

"'_O Oysters, come and walk with us!' _

_The Walrus did beseech_

'_A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,_

_Along the (briny beach) > (movie theatre)'"_

"It's called a Verse Fluctuation Declaration," Kit explained, "It's a code we use with poems to send an important message by replacing the certain words we want to say with different ones. Now that the telegrams are working, we can put this code into work. I've been looking for another poem for days to tell them exactly where, so I need your help."

Quigley studied the poem and looked up hopefully, "We're meeting the Baudelaires on Briny Beach?"

"Exactly."

---

It was past noon and Kit and Quigley were still looking through poetry books. After a while, the words seemed to blend together and not make any sense at all as Quigley skimmed the pages.

Longfellow, Wilde, Frost… his head was spinning with poems and he was just about sick of them all together. Yet, he had no choice; he had to find that poem for the Verse Fluctuation to work. Kit was roaming the room, looking through the cupboards.

"The food has completely run out," Kit declared. Quigley groaned. His stomach was growling louder than his thoughts. He flipped through the books aimlessly. Suddenly, a word caught his eye: _violet…_

"I thought that there was another supply of food in here," Kit said as she peered throughout the corners of the room but Quigley didn't hear a word she was saying. He looked at the cover of the book he was reading: _The Waste Land_ by T.S. Elliot. The poem went like so…

_At the violet hour, when the eyes and back_

_Turn upwards from the desk, when the human engine waits_

_Like a taxi throbbing waiting._

_Strange, but it'll work_, Quigley thought triumphantly as he copied the poem hastily onto the paper with the first poem written on it. He changed 'taxi' and 'waiting' to 'pony' and 'party' but as he read it over again, he found himself changing 'violet' to 'pink'. _She'll know I'll be thinking of her_, Quigley thought fondly.

Kit came back to the working table. "We need to get some food fast… any luck?"

Quigley looked up. "What? Oh right, I found one."

"You did? Why didn't you say so earlier!?" Kit said astounded, but she looked thrilled. She grabbed his book. "Elliot? Hmm, not a big fan of him but I'm surprised I didn't look through his more thoroughly. Well, good. Fantastic job, Quigley. Now, I must go."

"Go?" Quigley asked abruptly as she searched for her coat.

"Yes, to the Baudelaires… and for food of course," Kit said vaguely as she checked her watch. She picked up both the Elliot and Carroll books with her.

"But what about the poem and… and the telegram?" Quigley said following her around the room.

"Yes, what about it? You know how to send telegrams, correct?" Kit smiled as Quigley nodded. His father had taught him and his siblings when they were young and they always sent messages to each other by tapping through the walls.

"Good. Send a telegram to the _Queequeg_ informing them that we are in desperate need of the Baudelaires. Specify that we need them tomorrow, Tuesday. I'll send food here through a member," she continued, "Don't let anyone in unless they give you the password. _The world is quiet here_," she whispered.

"You're coming back after you've gotten the Baudelaires… right?" Quigley asked.

"Yes, once I've retrieved them I will, but first I must send a message to someone concerning the sugar bowl," Kit clarified and she went for the door.

"Kit, why is everyone looking for the sugar bowl? Quigley asked modestly.

Kit sighed, "I'm not sure where to begin, Quigley. There are many reasons why; the sugar bowl is a complicated thing. But I'm in a hurry, I will explain later… oh yes, send a copy of the telegram to J.S. Will you remember that?" Kit asked and Quigley stopped stunned.

"J. S.? The Baudelaires and I saw those initials in the headquarters. Who do they belong t---?" Quigley asked but she opened the door.

"Quigley, I really must go! I'll tell you tomorrow," Kit said halfway out the door.

"Kit…!"

She came back in with a pitying look, "I know what you're thinking. This isn't going to be like what happened with Jacques. I'll be seeing you tomorrow with the Baudelaires," she assured and then winked, "Don't forget what he told you. 'Make time---'"

"---'to change time'. I know," Quigley said with a half-hearted smile and she closed the door.

The afternoon became dark and Quigley sat in front of a sending telegram. He had sent nearly half the message so far, making sure his Morse code was correct. He only hoped that the Baudelaires would be able to figure out the code in the poems. Finally, he finished tapping out the message and sent a copy to J.S., still unsure who he or she was. The light flashed green to reassure him that it was sent and he waited.

Quigley could feel himself drifting to sleep right when a tinny, booming knock came from the door. Quigley snapped up and ran to it.

"Password?"

"The world is quiet here."

Quigley cautiously opened the door; a grinning man with his collar turned up stood there with food in his hands. Quigley thanked him and closed the door, and found there was a basket of fruit and vegetables and beef jerky from Kit. He ate as fast as his mouth could chew.

The rusty clock on the wall read past midnight as Quigley forced himself to stay awake, chewing insipidly on a carrot. He had a strange fear of falling asleep and missing the Baudelaires arrival. The telegrams buzzed dully for hours.

_Beep. Beep. Bzzzz._

Quigley looked up from table where his head was lying.

_Beeeeep. Shzzz. _

He staggered over to the blinking telegram with heavy feet. It continued to beep and fizzle until a slip of thin paper fell into his hands. A volunteer factual dispatch…

**TO:** THE VOLUNTEEG FACTUAL DISPATCH CONTROLCENTEG

HELP HELP HELP PLEASE STOP. FATAL EMEGRENCY STOP…

Quigley stopped for a split second. There were so many errors… something seemed vaguely familiar about it…

STGANDED AT EAST POINT OF THE MOGTMAIN MOUNTAINS STOP. HOT AIG BALLOON ACCIDENT STOP. PLEASE SEND HELP FAST STOP.

_Hot air balloon… _Quigley held the telegram with shaking hands. Now he knew the errors… all of the R's and G's were switched. It was his brother's worst Morse code habit…

**FROM:** DUNCAN QUARMIGE


	4. Chapter the 4th: Taxi Throbbing Waiting

**A/N: **Thanks so much again and again for reading!!! Next chapter might take until next weekend (school's a drag) but I hope you enjoy this chapter... it'll just get better and better I promise, especially when I add more of the characters' POV's.

Ok, author's note is done, so scroll down and read!! huggles

**Chapter the Fourth**

"'_And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting_

_On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door_

_And his eyes have all the seeming of a---'"_

"_Slow down! This is the best part!" _

"_And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming_

_And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;_

_And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor;_

_Shall be lifted---nevermore!'"_

_A crack of thunder bellowed throughout the night air and a thin streak of lightning split the sky. The children both screamed and then laughed as they set aside "The Raven"._

"_Stormy nights like this are the best time to read Poe's stories," said the young boy. He traced his finger on a raindrop that had hit the window from the outside._

"_Jacques, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to read them. I'm scared," the younger girl replied, hugging a pillow. Thunder burst through the room again and they jumped._

"_Kit, you shouldn't be scared," Jacques said as he placed the book back on the library's high shelves, "Everyone should be back soon."_

"_I'm not too sure… that fire sounded big." Kit responded._

"_Well, it _is _raining. That should stop it some."_

_The V.F.D. headquarters seemed vast and empty without the regular grown up members bustling through and studying books. Out their window, they could see the magnificent waterfall in front of the dark, blustery sky. _

"_I can't wait until I am older. Then I can stop fires and send real messages and learn all of the secrets," Jacques said dreamily as he gazed out the window. "I want to be a reporter on my spare time. You know, interviewing all the big people in business, write articles, and such. He also wants to."_

"_Who?"_

"_Our brother! Remember, the one that's related to us? You know, L-E-M--" Jacques teased._

"_Okay, alright!" Kit hit him with her pillow, but she was grinning. "Where is he anyway?"_

"_In his room, I think. He said he would rather finish his book tonight," Jacques said. He called out his name, but a clap of thunder drowned out his voice. _

"_I have an idea," Kit giggled, "Let's send a telegram to his room and make it sound _really_ urgent. Then attack him with our pillows when he comes out the door!" _

_Jacques laughed and in a second he ran out of the library, his little sister tailing behind with pillows in her hands. They came to a telegram in the hallway and Jacques began tapping the device. He knew Morse code like the back of his hand. _

"_I need… your help, stop," Jacques said aloud as he tapped, "A Very… Frantic Disaster in the… hallway, stop." They tried to muffle their giggles. His room was only a few feet away. Kit helped with the message, adding in something about a 'Vase Fairly Damaged' in the kitchen, looking up at her brother admiringly as he tapped out the letter._

_The V.F.D. was all one big game to them back then…_

Kit snapped up out her thoughts as bleary light poured into the taxi. It took her a second to remember where she was. Morning. Beach. Taxi. That was right…

The door was open, letting in the light. Looking inside was a young girl with dark hair; she looked surprised. Kit saw her brother behind her and their little sister peering over the passenger seat. Kit smiled.

"Hello, Baudelaires. Climb aboard."

Kit watched Violet's eyes flicker over to the back seats and then the books in her lap. She gave her brother a hopeful look and turned back to Kit.

"Who are you?"

Kit transferred her gaze over to Klaus and Sunny comfortingly. It had been so long since she had seen any of them, except for the photos her brother sent her through his research. "I'm Kit Snicket."

Violet seemed to let out a deep breath; she opened the back seat door and climbed in, her siblings following her lead. The door snapped shut and Kit started up the engine after a few tries as it sputtered sickly. The beach disappeared behind them like a bad dream.

"Briny Beach is quite dreary, isn't it? In the winter at least," Kit started but she turned her head slightly, "Well, I might as well skip the small talk. Obviously the telegram was sent and received." The Baudelaires only nodded. The crackle of the radio filled the silence in the car.

"Where are you taking us?" Klaus finally asked.

"To the place we sent the telegram from. As in place, I mean the Volunteer Factual Dispatch control center. As in we, I mean myself and Quigley Quagmire," Kit finished with a small smile.

"Quigley? Will he be there?" Violet piped up.

"Isadora and Duncan?" Sunny asked excitedly in which Klaus and Violet didn't need to translate.

"That's more like it! I was afraid you didn't have any questions at all!" Kit grinned, "Yes and no. I found Quigley only a few days ago on that very beach, but Duncan and Isadora are hopefully still floating away with Hector, I'm afraid. Don't worry, I figure Hector will come down eventually," Kit said formally. She barely had time to turn the radio off with her gloved hand before she was hit with an outburst of questions.

"Where is the sugar bowl?"

"What's so important about the sugar bowl?"

"Hotel Denouncement!"

"Who is J.S.?"

"Are our parents alive…?"

Their questions stopped abruptly as Klaus finished his sentence. The wheels bumped silently under them and they could see Kit looking solemnly back at them in the rearview mirror, "So many questions… who is J.S.? You will find out soon enough. As for the sugar bowl, I wish I knew of its location. Did Widdershins explain its importance at all?"

Violet shook her head, "No, not at all. He said there are terrible secrets in the world that us young people must not know of. Fiona, his stepdaughter, didn't even know."

"Ah, yes, I remember Fiona. She reminded me of myself when I was younger," Kit said thoughtfully. Her mind flickered to a memory where she introduced Fiona to mycology after she gave her all of her books on mushrooms… after the Anwhistle Aquatics incident…

"She…" Klaus started shakily looking down, "she joined Count Olaf."

Kit said nothing. The Baudelaires looked at each other; they hated to break the news to Kit, especially when so many of the V.F.D. members of late had disappeared, changed sides, and died. Klaus looked for the right words to say.

"She left for her brother, Fernald; that's the only reason why," Klaus said, wanting to believe that what he said was true, "She's still good at heart."

After a minute, Kit looked back at them through the mirror with a weak smile to say she understood. Her blue eyes looked so terribly sad and the Baudelaires thought that the reason they looked so heartbreaking was the color. They were dark, like the depths of the Grim Grotto. "Tell me everything that happened on the _Queequeg,_" she said.

The Baudelaires took turns explaining the series of unfortunate events that took place on the submarine, from the strange figure on the radar, the grotto under the Anwhistle Aquatics, being captured by Olaf, Widdershins's disappearance, and the Medusoid Mycelium. Kit was quiet for a long time and the Baudelaires remembered the letter they found in the Grim Grotto that Kit had written to Gregor Anwhistle about the dangers of the mushroom. Everything the V.F.D. had worked so hard for was now falling apart.

"… and Widdershins left, just like that?" Kit finished asking.

"Yes," Violet replied, "There wasn't a note or sign or anything to say where he went."

Kit studied the hard road in front of her. It was very strange of Widdershins. He wasn't a coward and he wouldn't leave Fiona… unless something extraordinarily important came up…

"Sugarbowl?" Sunny asked which meant, "If the sugar bowl is found, will it stop Count Olaf?" but Kit figured what she meant. She took a thoughtful moment to respond. What to tell the children…? Everything? Nothing? Finally she spoke.

"If all works out, yes. It is… very valuable to the V.F.D. as petty as it might sound. It holds a piece of evidence that is very crucial to---"

The car gave a great _bang!_ as one side shifted to the left. Kit swerved the car to the side of the road and pebbles hit the windshield, leaving little star-like cracks. It stopped with a sudden jolt and Violet looked out the window to the back of the car.

"You must have hit something in the road… your left tire is flat."

---

The stillness in the room seemed almost unnatural as Quigley read the telegram three times over before actually moving. His mind was slowly coming to reality, as if not believing what was written in front of him. _My brother and sister…Isadora and Duncan. Stranded? Yes, stranded on the Mortmain Mountains. They could freeze to death._ _Go, now, save them._

He gathered up all of the food the man delivered from Kit into a blanket and tied it into a knot. There was enough to last the journey… he had done this before once already. He collected his commonplace book with a map he drew of the mountains when he was with the Snow Scouts and stood a few more minutes by the telegrams to make sure he wouldn't miss any more messages.

It was nearly two in the morning. Quigley found a scrap piece of paper and started to write a note he would leave for Kit. Then he stopped. Perhaps he was being foolish by going out on his own to look for his siblings. He could just wait…

But he _had _done it once before, so why not do it again? And besides, last time Jacques didn't come back for weeks… or at all and he wasted all of that time just waiting. What if Kit never came back?

_But you could freeze to death out their with them._

He made up his mind.

---

Kit left the driver's seat to work on the flat tire, leaving the children in the car although Violet gladly offered to invent a sturdier wheel, Klaus suggested tips from a driver's manual he read once, and Sunny added in that she would willingly bite any nuts or bolts Kit needed shaping.

"I felt horrible telling Kit all about what has happened," Klaus said sitting anxiously in the car. The skies were looking darker every second and the clouds were turning gray like smoke.

"Me too," Sunny added.

"Yes, but we had to. She has to know what has happened and she'll help us answer all of our questions… she said soon enough we'll know who J.S. is and maybe she even knows how to get the Medusoid Mycelium back to destroy it." Violet said hopefully and Klaus rolled down the window. He stuck his hand out. No rain yet.

"It smells like horseradish… we're on Lousy Lane," Klaus said quietly.

"Uncle Monty," Sunny reminisced.

"He was so nice to us… remember that coconut cream cake he made for us before we even introduced ourselves? He was the best guardian we've had since---," Violet tried to say it but she covered her face with her hands, trying not to cry. "Oh, everything has gone completely wrong! I wish we never met Count Olaf! I wish… I wish a lot of things didn't happen."

"So do I, but maybe the tables have turned now that we're with Kit," Klaus said with an arm around her shoulder. Sunny crawled into their laps. "She not officially our guardian but everything will work out. We still have some hope…"

He opened his commonplace book and took out the thirteenth page to the Snicket file. They looked at the picture of the four people, but only concentrated longingly on the faces of their parents.

"Because of the evidence discussed on page nine," Klaus recited by heart, "experts now suspect that there may in fact be one survivor of the fire, but the survivor's whereabouts are unknown. Quigley admitted that it was him when we first met him, but he's not in this picture. There could be one more survivor and even if it's not one of our parents… we should still have hope that one more V.F.D. member remains alive."

Right after Klaus set the page back inside his notebook, Kit came back in the car. The car started and rode off smoothly and Kit laughed quietly, "It's good to know I can still change tires. Besides, we should consider ourselves lucky. We're barely a mile away from where we need to be."

The Baudelaires looked out the window to see what they remembered as Swarthy Swamp and saw a rickety, old shed. "There?" Klaus asked skeptically. Kit stopped the car under a gigantic willow tree so the draping branches hid the car.

"Quigley was doubtful too. Inside is the factual dispatch control room… the shed frame around it is just a false illusion to people who pass it. Remind me to use a telegram once I get inside," Kit explained and they nodded, "I borrowed that taxi from a friend. Hopefully he won't be too bothered with our tire accident."

They were nearly to the shed. The rotten wooden door was swinging strangely in the wind. A raindrop fell on Violet's arm and she asked, "What did you hit in the road?"

They stepped inside of the sinking shed and in front of the Vernacularly Fastened Door. "This," Kit said and reached inside of her pocket and handed it to Klaus.

"A fork?" Klaus said. It was bent straighter than most forks but the strangest thing about was what was tied to it. They looked like colorful, thick strings. Klaus went to hand it back but Violet took it from him and examined it with wide eyes.

"The world is quiet here," Kit said and waited. No reply. She repeated it but the door didn't open. The wind outside started to shake the shed. "He must be asleep."

Klaus watched Kit type in the answers into the door but Sunny tugged at the bottom of Violet's dress. "Violet?" She asked in her small voice but Violet was tying her hair up.

The door opened after a buzz and a click and they walked inside. Kit strode down the hall of telegrams to the back where Quigley kept his sleeping cot.

Klaus started to follow but Violet caught his arm, "Klaus, look."

"Violet, it's just a fork," Klaus said but Violet held it up to his face.

"No, it's not. Look at it closely. I invented this, Klaus! I made it when I went climbing up the Slippery Slope. Remember?" Violet said fretfully.

"Your fork climbing shoes! Yes, I do remember! But how did they get all the way here?" Klaus asked, confused as ever.

"They didn't! I tied ukelele strings to my invention; these are wires. Someone else made them."

"But no one else knows how to make them! No one else except you, myself, and---"

"Quigley," Kit said and the Baudelaires turned around. Kit was standing beside a small dining table with a beraggled note in her hand. "He's gone. He's heading towards the Mortmain Mountains to find his brother and sister."


	5. Chapter the 5th: Climb, Fall, Repeat

**A/N: **AHH! Thanks for being so patient, school's always in the way lol! The reviews are so awesome, thanks so much! It motivates me to write more and plus I meet new writers that way. ;)

**Chapter the Fifth**

"Gone?" Sunny asked, her wide eyes full of concern.

Kit nodded gravely and held out the note. Violet ran forward and took it, reading it aloud as Klaus picked up Sunny and looked over her shoulder. The handwriting was almost illegible as his hurried words ran across the paper, bold and black.

"_Kit, Baudelaires--- I've received news of my siblings and I must go. I've gone to the Mortmain Mountains; I'll try to be back by Thursday. Please forgive me for leaving so suddenly--- Quigley."_

Violet stopped and set the note down on the table. He was gone again, out of her reach. Just like when they were drifting away in the rapids of the Stricken Stream. She fell into one of the dining table chairs and in a sudden, swift movement, threw the fork she held onto the table, landing with a hollow clang.

"He's planning to climb up the slopes with my invention," Violet spoke abruptly, "…oh, why didn't just wait for us to come back?" Violet asked in despair. She stared longingly at the door, hoping he might just walk through it, snow-beaten and smiling with Duncan and Isadora beside him. It remained unmoved.

"It must have been urgent," Klaus thought out loud, standing behind Violet comfortingly with Sunny, "Quigley must have received a sighting of Hector's hot-air balloon nearby. Perhaps they've landed."

"Or perhaps they've crashed," Violet spoke weakly.

There was a silence. Baudelaires couldn't bear to think of losing any of the Quagmires. They were the first, and only, _real_ friends they had since they lost their parents. They understood what it had felt like to lose everything in a second and how to try to carry on… They gave them hope and without that, they had nothing.

Kit suddenly started to gather her things: books, keys, files… The Baudelaires watched her silently until finally Kit opened the door.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Kit asked in the doorway.

"We're leaving?" Klaus asked. He looked down at Violet, but she said nothing.

"Of course we're leaving," Kit said still beckoning the children to the door.

"But what about Quigley? What if he comes back and we're not here?" Violet responded.

"Well, where do you think we're going? We're going to go find him; he cannot possibly survive out there by himself," Kit said matter-of-factly and tried to give a small smile. She stared at their despairing faces until she saw a faint flicker of hope light up in their eyes. _Faces so sad… it's not fair. They're still so very young._

In moments, they were back outside in the taxi Kit left under the great willow. It was late afternoon already and the sun glowed dully behind the thick, post-winter clouds. The road was long and empty ahead of them and Kit turned on the radio softly, crackling a slow jazz tune. It seemed to calm their nerves, as if they were back home sitting in front of their radio and waiting for their nightly shows to come on. It felt like years ago.

"I'd get some sleep if I were you. We're far from where we need to be," Kit explained. She drummed her gloved fingers against the wheel as the road still stretched empty before her.

The Baudelaires didn't bother to ask where they were heading and they didn't have the strength even if they wanted to. Sleep drew over them like a shadow and one by one they fell asleep next to each other to the sound of the soulful jazz on the radio and Kit's soft humming.

* * *

"Klaus…" 

Klaus opened his heavy eyes and rubbed them behind his glasses. He lifted his head off of Violet's shoulder and looked outside. The sky was orange in the west where the sun was melting on the horizon like butter; a light shower of rain glazed Kit's windshield as towering building bent over them, casting long shadows.

"Where are we?" Klaus yawned but Violet shushed him and pointed down to Sunny sleeping soundlessly next to her.

"We're almost there," Kit said softly and Klaus rubbed his eyes again.

The tall buildings on either side of them suddenly became familiar and Klaus recognized the city as the one they used to live in. They were still very far east from where the smoldered remains of their mansion lay, and Klaus was glad of it. He hated the site. He looked over to Violet who was staring outside as she put her arm around Sunny.

"Kit," Violet said vaguely as she stared blankly at the handful of carriages and cars dashing past them, "Are we really going to the Hotel Denouncement on Thursday?"

Kit nodded and Klaus snapped up out of his thoughts of his life before and looked over to Violet's anxious face. "Kit, we can't go there. On the _Carmelita_, Count Olaf spoke about how everyone from his troupe would be there. Wouldn't we just be walking into a trap?"

Kit looked back at them through her mirror, "Yes, I know. Quigley told me the exact same thing. I was unaware of this until he told me but there's one person who will know if this is true and that's where we're going."

"Will they help us find Quigley?" Violet asked.

Kit nodded.

"Who?" Klaus asked. He ran his hand through his hair, almost considering falling back asleep until Violet pulled his arm sharply over to her window to a dreadful site. Klaus scrambled to her side by the window and they gasped.

"I don't understand," Klaus choked out as Violet rolled the window down. Cold, gray rain hit their faces. Sunny yawned as she stretched over their legs to see what they were both looking at.

Kit had stopped the car outside of house they knew all too well. It was dirty, haunting, sinister… all of those horrible words at once and on top of it all was a sagging tower. An eye stared back at them from the door it was carved on and the house was creaking in the breeze. Violet and Klaus couldn't break their gaze from it; from the moment they first saw it so long ago, it had etched its image into their brains to haunt them wherever they went. However, their misfortune had not brought them back to the house of Count Olaf at all…

"J.S!" Sunny shrieked happily and she pointed eagerly out the window next door. Like a lighthouse in a dreadful fog, stood a gleaming white stature of a house where the Baudelaires had fond memories of reading in a large, peaceful library on how to prepare puttenesca sauce, and in the midst of it all in her flourishing garden, was Justice Strauss waving at the children.

* * *

The dead, cold night had become a dead, cold morning. The sky remained an unchanging gray as the clouds grew and spilled freezing rain that turned to sleet by mid afternoon. The snow became slush, froze, became ice, repeated. It was snowing heavily by night, dead and cold as the night before. 

Quigley bundled up tightly under a low, icy slope and ate the food he carried with chattering teeth. He had to remember to save some for when he found Duncan and Isadora…

For the entire day, he had been walking, climbing, sliding, falling. He realized he had lost of one of the fork assisting inventions for his shoes, so he had walked in circles, slowly up the mountains on a slippery path. By nightfall, his entire body was screaming at him to stop and rest, and at last here he was.

Shivering, he chewed on another mushroom Kit had sent to him in the basket of food the day before. He never particularly liked mushrooms at all, but he forced himself to swallow. He wasn't going to save food he didn't like for Duncan and Isadora. He coughed as he choked on a piece and with one final chew, swallowed the rest. In seconds, he was asleep.

* * *

The next day was worst than the day before. It no longer rained, or hailed, or snowed. Instead, the sun beat down bitterly on the Mortmain Mountains and thawed the snow to mush. A sheer layer of melted ice glazed over his pathway up and tediously, he walked. 

There were no signs of a hot-air balloon anywhere.

He walked for hours, sniffling and coughing. He had never been out in the snow this long before. His mother always warned them as children of catching their death outside in the winter when they used to sled for hours on end. _If what mother said was true, then I'm on a death sentence,_ Quigley thought painfully as he slid down a smooth slope to a broad, snowy valley between the east and western mountains.

The whistling wind became unbearable as he climbed up, up, up once again. He recited poetry in his head to pass the time, counted any birds that passed overhead, and even tried to tell himself to think it was the middle of summer to numb the coldness. _I'll go crazy if I survive another week of this._

The wind became fiercer and stronger until he couldn't see six feet ahead of him. He hands around blindly for the side of the mountain, stepping carefully along it. Falling down would mean he would have to climb all the way up again.

_Bzzzzzz… _

Quigley waved his hand around his face. The buzzing became louder… _Snow gnats._ _Perfect._

They were invisible in the wind but they stung his face and hands. His foot slipped and he frantically clambered back up. He squinted in the flurried wind. Nothing but white all around.

_Bzzz… Bzzzzzzzz…_

The snow gnats quickly caught on and suddenly started to sting his hands and feet. His foot slipped dangerously again and this time his notebook fell.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…… _

He groped and shifted through the wet snow with his bare hands. His fingertips brushed the side of it but it was too late even after he grasped onto it once more. The ledge of snow crumbed under him and he tumbled down the snowy ledge, spinning and plummeting until he hit the bare bottom.

The buzzing was gone. Quigley threw his notebook angrily as he sat up, looking up to where he had spent the entire day climbing up to. _This was it. I'm going to die alone and frozen at the bottom of this mountain. All of it was useless._ He hugged his knees for warmth, closing his eyes and listening for the wind to stop rushing over him.

He waited.

And the wind stopped.

It was bright… unusually bright. It couldn't be morning already could it? He had wasted the rest of the day sleeping…

_I started Tuesday after midnight, Quigley thought wearily, Tuesday morning it had snowed all day. Yes, that was right. Wednesday it had all melted… so if it was morning…?_

_It was Thursday. The Thursday._

Quigley scrambled up in search of his items. They were gone, lost in the snow. He shifted through the snow for his notebook until his hands throbbed and then lost all feeling. It was gone, all of those notes. Gone.

He got up. There's no time to waste. Thursday was when he promised he'd be back. Thursday was his goal for finding his siblings by. Thursday was _the_ day: Hotel Denouncement.

He walked, trying to remember where he came from. _I left towards the setting sun. The sun sets west… I had to have come from the east. Where was east? There._

He trudged on, empty-handed looking for any sign at all. This was his last chance. Just a signal or a voice, perhaps a trail of fresh footsteps or a---

A streak of blue was moving strangely in the distance, obscured by the mountainside. Quigley walked faster and it grew, flowing in the wind. He ran, watching it as it grew and at last the line of blue was no longer a line. It was a large, torn sail caught on the mountain. Like a ship fallen from the sky. It hung on to the ragged edge desperately as if one gust of wind could blow it right off and send it tumbling down.

"Duncan! Isadora!"

Quigley dragged his tired legs through the snow, running as fast as he could carry himself, coughing violently. At the side of the slope he looked up to the fallen balloon and the large baskets that hung under it. Quigley set a hand in a crack in the mountain and pushed himself up. He didn't look down. He never would.

"Duncan? _Duncan! _Isadora?" Quigley shouted as the hot-air balloon continued to sway oddly.

He was at least thirty feet from the ground before his frozen fingertips could touch the bottom of the baskets.

"Duncan! Are you up there? _Isa_---"

He looked down to the icy ledge where his feet were. It started to crack and splinter. He jumped for the baskets before it crumbled but he fell all the way back down and landed on his back. He tried to move but it hurt too much. He coughed and wheezed strangely and he clutched his throat. His tears froze on his cheeks as he looked hopelessly up. He was out of ideas, lost in what to do. He stopped calling their names… there could be only one reason why they weren't answering back.

Dead.

Then it went all to black.

* * *

"He's slipping!" 

"Then hold on tighter!"

"Oh yeah? Let's see you try. At least I'm carrying the wretched thing."

"Oh, why don't you two shut up? It's not _in_ to argue."

Quigley's eyes shot open but it was still black. He couldn't see anything at all… he was blinded by the fall. No. Blind_folded_.

He struggled weakly but his feet were locked together, as well as his hands. He tried to talk but it was hard to breathe. He moaned.

"Great! Now you woke the kid up."

"It doesn't matter, just open the car door and throw him in."

Suddenly, Quigley hit what had to be the car seat. It was still taking his brain time to register what was happening. Who were the voices… a car--- he was in a car?

Immediately, his blindfold was ripped off as blinding light filled his eyes. A car engine started and his eyes burned as they adjusted.

The car was filthy, horribly filthy. Trash was cluttered around his feet, the seats were torn, and there were even what looked like bullet holes through the roof. A man with a hunchback sat on his left, the man with hooks on his right, and up in front was Esmè Squalor and Count Olaf, grinning terribly back at him through the broken rearview mirror.

"Enjoy your sleep?" Count Olaf cackled. Quigley struggled to free his hands. Once he would… he didn't know what he'd do.

"Where are you taking me?" Quigley tried to say but his voice cracked and his breathing became short. Hestarted to talk again but he was interrupted by evil laughter. His heart began to pound as he searched for an escape.He tried to swallow, but his throat was swollen and he coughed until he could barely breathe.

"I can't believe our luck! The puny twerp actually fell for it!" Esmè giggled. Quigley's mind was fogging with every short breath he took. What…?

"_Please help, stop! Stranded on mountain, stop!_"Esmè mocked in a high voice. "It would have never of worked if you didn't force his annoying look-alike to tap out the telegram." Quigley threw himself forward out of the grip of the men beside him.

"You have Duncan!" He gasped. His lungs felt like they were going to burst as he kept wheezing for air. _Why can't I breathe...?_

Esmè giggled with Count Olaf as she held a jar in her lap, "Of course we do! How else would we be able to lure you to us! Besides, kidnapping is in at the moment."

"So is intercepting packages," Olaf intervened and they all roared laughing.

Quigley stared at the jar on her lap again. Inside was a strange growth, filled with tiny spores and… he wasn't sure what it was until Olaf lifted it up in front of him.

"You must be hungry. Mushroom?" He laughed maliciously and with one final inhale Quigley fell unconscious.

* * *


	6. Chapter the Sixth: Thursday

A/N: I an ashamed. Deeply ashamed. IT HAS BEEN WAY TOO LONG AND IM TRULY SORRY! Ok, no more shouting… but honestly, time just flies and I look at my computer and think, "I'll do it tomorrow!" And then it's 3 months later lol. Anyways, throw tomatoes, maybe even pies at me, but after you read the next chapter… ;)

**Chapter the Sixth **

The room was black. Nothing but darkness.

A cricket chirped and then stopped as if it noticed the uncomfortable darkness too; there was no sliver of warm sunlight peeking through the windows or doors because there were none.

The only movement in the room was coming from a lone spider, weaving a moldy web in the far corner of the room.

The room was black.

Quigley woke up, one side of his face pressed against the cold cement floor. He could see nothing; the blindfold was back over his eyes.

He groaned as he tried to heave himself up. His hands were bound behind them, and from what he could tell, with crude rope. He could feel the scratchy cords rubbing deeper into his skin with every movement he made until finally, he blindly leaned against one of the stony walls. Everything was so cold.

Then suddenly, he realized everything that had happened. He knew he was captured by Olaf and his troupe, for a ransom… even perhaps a murderous kidnapping, but he only just recalled what he had been doing before he had awoken just now out of his state of unconsciousness. He had been dying in the back of Olaf's car.

He coughed but his throat was clear… he was fine. Confused, Quigley shuffled to try to free his hands but cringed as he cried out aloud; a shooting pain in his ankle burned up his leg and paralyzed him to the spot.

What could he do? He couldn't move, he couldn't even see. God knows where he was, and what would be the use of calling for help? Olaf and his troupe could be in the very same room as him at that moment, watching him struggle and muffling their evil laughter.

Unexpectedly, the sound of a long creaking footstep came to his ears. He couldn't tell where it was coming from but in panic, without any reasonable thinking, he cried hoarsely, "Hello? Anybody, please… help me! Help!"

The footsteps stopped and a quiet groan of aged wood was heard, as if a door was being opened. Even through his blindfold, Quigley sensed a flood of light fall into the room and then disappear. He waited anxiously as he realized his irrational shout for help. The steps were suddenly closer. A hand touched his face.

Quigley jumped back although the touch was gentle. Carefully, his blindfold was slipped off and Quigley sat there dumbly, his eyes adjusting to the room. He opened his mouth stupidly, trying to think of what to say but a hand closed quickly over his mouth.

"Please be quiet. I'm not supposed to be here," a soft voice came through the darkness. Quigley still felt blind, not being able to see anything still but a thin milky outline of the face in front of him.

"I managed to sneak away some of my dinner for you. I don't imagine they've fed you since you've been here… they're horrible. Complete monsters… but you can trust me," the voice spoke and abruptly, food was poured onto his lap. He lifted a crusty piece of bread to his mouth and tried to swallow. He had no questions to ask this mysterious stranger, whoever it was. There was nothing to know other than he was cold, hungry, forgotten, alone…

"M-my brother and sister! Duncan and Isador--" Quigley stammered faster than his tongue could speak and the hand closed over his mouth once more.

"Shh!" And they froze. Footsteps were heard from above and Quigley realized he was under the floor, right under a hidden trapdoor.

The hand was lowered once the steps disappeared and the voice spoke quickly in rapid fire, "Please, you mustn't shout… your siblings. They're here. I can show you them, but you must promise to eat this first."

A spoon was held up to his lips and Quigley cringed at the taste. "It's horseradish. I need to make sure you're thoroughly healed. Count Olaf poisoned you with Medusoid Mycelium… he snuck it into your food basket Kit had sent. It's a long story and we haven't got much time…" The stranger said and he was pulled up to his feet. He gave a weak cry.

"I think my ankle's broken… or--or something," Quigley winced. He turned to the pale outline. "How do you know all of this… what's going to happen?" He asked as the stranger uncoiled the ropes around his hands.

"You know exactly what's going to happen. It's Thursday." That was all the voice said until he watched the stranger pull a small lighter from their pocket. With a flick of a thumb, a feeble light was emitted and shimmered like a star in the darkness. It was held inches from their faces and he could see two eyes in the darkness, blue and wide. "You look alright, for the most part," she whispered and then the soft voice said curiously, "Gosh, it's like I'm looking right at Duncan," and the light was gone. Quigley's heart thumped fast at the thought of finally seeing his siblings…

"Who are you?" Quigley asked, feeling as if he had been talking to a ghost the entire time. She paused.

"I'd give you a name, but I'm not even sure who am I anymore… I've lost my family and I'm a prisoner to Olaf's troupe now, but if you must insist, I'll tell you. Aye, it's only fair…" she pulled a ladder down from the trap door above their heads, "You can call me Fiona. Now, hurry. This way."

* * *

The trapdoor was opened and Fiona helped him up the stairs by grabbing his hands; he tried not to cry out loud when his ankle burned painfully once again. The hallway was dead empty and nearly as dark as his room under the floor. She pulled him into a vacant doorway and put a finger to her lips. They proceeded as she led the way.

They passed corridor after corridor, filled with bare, cobweb-ridden rooms on either side. With every step, a puff of filthy dust rose up from the rotting carpet. No one seemed to be around and Quigley slowed down to look out one of the windows but realized that there were none. They came to the stairway and Quigley leaned against the handrail before he could go any further.

"Duncan and Isadora… are they alright? Has Olaf done anything to them?" Quigley whispered throatily; swirls of white dust flew up the stairs and landed back softly on the steps.

"They're alive for the most part. Probably not as safe as you could hope for, but what can you expect when you're kidnapped by Count Olaf?" Fiona joked darkly. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure I know where they are… I only talk to them when the entire troupe is asleep down here, but Olaf… he doesn't ever sleep it seems like."

Quigley hobbled up the stairs as Fiona supported his left side with his arm over her shoulders. They stopped frequently for Quigley's ankle; he rubbed it as it shot spurts of pain up and down his foot until it became numb and lost all feeling all together.

Quigley turned to Fiona suspiciously, "Why are you doing all of this for me? If you are who you say you are, how come you're risking yourself for my sake under Olaf's rule? You're not one of those Snow Scouts from Mortmain Mountain, I would have remembered you. " He stared her straight in the eyes, the clear sheen of her glasses reflected in the dim light of the stairway. Finally he said, "How come you've kidnapped me… who are you trying to trap?"

Fiona turned abruptly towards him and he grasped for the handrail for support; her face was hurt and angry. "I'm doing this because I believe in family. _That's_ why I'm here with Olaf--- so I can be with my brother. _That's_ why I'm speaking to Duncan and Isadora--- to plan an escape. _That's_ why I'm taking you to them. I'm not like them… I don't play their games of ruining people's lives."

Quigley looked down at the steps, ashamed he said anything from the start, and started up the stairs, knowing he wasn't worthy enough to receive her help. Yet, she stood beside him and linked her arm with his, steadily helping him up.

"However…you are right, though. They kidnapped you for a different purpose," Fiona said sadly, "They've got Isadora and Duncan for the fortune but they decided to take you and place you as a prop, like one of their acting sets. They forced your brother to telegram the receiving room for the V.F.D. Factual Dispatches once they found out you were there with Kit Snicket; they've been spying on her for months. Now that they have you… they want to lure the Baudelaires here, along with the rest of the V.F.D. members. A-And from what I've heard…"

She stopped suddenly and brought her hands up to her face, trying to hide her oncoming tears. Her voice shook as she choked on her throat, "They plan to set fire to this building and kill every volunteer in it."

Quigley was dumbstruck and as he turned to Fiona again, her face was now set hard and emotionless as if she was trying to swallow her fear and misery. The stepped deftly through the next hallway, lighter than the first dark hallway, but still no windows.

"But they can't," Quigley spoke finally; his voice was sure and disbelieving the fact that Fiona presented. "How are they capable of bringing every V.F.D. member to one spot and planning on successfully keeping them in a burning building?"

Fiona stopped outside a closed, black door on the far end of the hallway. She raised her eyebrows at Quigley, confused. "Haven't you figured out where we are yet?"

Quigley shook his head.

"We're underground, about three floors. The reason Olaf and his troupe hasn't heard us yet is because they've all moved upstairs… preparing. We're under the floors of the Hotel Denouement. Today, at 7:13, everyone will be arriving and we will be waiting…"

Quigley stood silent and shocked. _But the Baudelaires know of the trap, and Kit…? They can't possibly come… _he thought, dumbstruck with Olaf's plan. However, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next… the very moment he had been dreaming and waiting and working for months and months. Fiona turned the brass knob of the black door in front of them and swung it wide, moaning softly like a cold breeze.

Inside, lying asleep on the rotted wood floor of the room, pale and starved, was Isadora and Duncan. Quigley almost mistook them as being dead.

"Duncan! Isadora!" Quigley cried, overcome with a strange emotion of mixed joy and sadness. They didn't even stir and as Quigley gained balance on his good leg, he stumbled forward but a clammy hand grabbed the back of his throat. Fiona shrieked and they were both pushed forward into the room.

"Well, well, well… Fiona, do I really need to tell you _not_ to disturb my little Quagmire prey? You should know this by now… the consequences of going against my rule can end fatal, but I'll let you off with a warning…"

Count Olaf stood above them, his yellow teeth gleaming in an awful sneer. Fiona wiped her bloody nose silently frightened; she had landed face first into the ground.

"Now, you keep your tiny mouths shut for the next few hours until we decide to pull you out. And you mustn't worry… we have plans for you, so you won't actually be perishing in the fire like the rest of your V.F.D friends." He giggled and wiggled his grimy fingers into a wave, "Toodles!"

"You'll never get away with it! Your arson isn't going to work! The V.F.D. knows of your plan and-and they'll inform the police before you can do anything about it!" Quigley had shouted this, even after Olaf had closed the door, in his foolish anger. He didn't know if any of this was true, but he hoped desperately inside that it was.

He sat crumpled on the floor defeated until the door clicked open. "Oh, it won't, will it…?"

Olaf's cruel profile was all that could be seen in the narrow doorway and he said murderously soft, "I'm afraid it will, you stupid child. From the kindness of my own heart, I'm letting you stay down here with your helpless brother and sister because I _know_ that after tonight, it'll be the last time you'll ever see them once I collect the fortune with ease, or anyone again… because you'll all be dead!"

His cackles echoed down the hallways and rang for a very long time in the seclusion of their windowless prison. Quigley trembled, his eyes blurring… he dared not look over at Fiona. He wiped his eyes and looked over to his brother and sister, but they hadn't even moved.

* * *

Thursday.

**8:15 AM**

The Baudelaires had risen for an early start. The last two days of arrival at Justice Strauss's was a blur as she and Kit researched and sent questioning letters and telegrams to as many V.F.D. members as possible. They waited.

**10:21 AM**

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny sit anxiously in Justice Strauss's library, trying to read. All they can think about was the Hotel Denouement and how Olaf had talked about being there too with his troupe.

"I've only just remembered…" Klaus speaks randomly from looking up from a book, "'denouement' is defined as 'the outcome of a sequence of events… the end result'. Perhaps this will be the end to all our questions."

"Perhaps this will be the end of the V.F.D," Violet whispers quietly. Klaus and Sunny never retorted, knowing deep in the back of their minds that it could be true.

**1:58 PM**

The mailman comes to the door and hands Kit half a bag of letters with no return addresses. Each one is from a volunteer and each one denies the rumor of Olaf's appearance at the Hotel after careful research. The all agree that they plan to be there to discuss the future of the V.F.D. and their enemies… 7:13 PM sharp.

**4:03 PM**

Kit demands that they must get an early start for the Hotel is far away in a remote, desolate strip of desert land. Justice Strauss dresses the three of them formally, knowing how the other V.F.D members will coo and compliment the Baudelaires, telling them how Sunny's got her mother's eyes and how Klaus has got his father's intelligence.

"You mustn't worry, dear children. The Hotel has been inspected on every floor and police will be close by in the nearest town if anything goes wrong." Her voice was cheery but the Baudelaires lost hope once they saw her smile waver as she left the room.

**6:52 PM**

Through their car window, a large, white seven-floor building comes into view over the horizon. Violet doesn't bother to wake Klaus and Sunny up.

Here it was. The Hotel Denouement in all its ominous glory. Everything they had heard about and worked to discover, to finally be among other volunteers… Olaf obviously wasn't in view but it didn't mean anything to Violet. He always seemed to be a shadow against a wall, a disguise in a crowd, never to be caught.

She wished he would never show up again, especially not today.

And she prayed.

**7:13 PM**


End file.
